


September 18

by masquerade97



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Destiel Day, Fluff, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 01:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8081566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masquerade97/pseuds/masquerade97
Summary: Each September 18th since Cas raised Dean from hell.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to have this done in time, but that didn't work out. Enjoy it a day late anyway!

2008

Dean remembered the hellhounds. He remembered the blinding pain as their claws ripped into his mortal body, and then something entirely worse when their claws and fangs sank into his soul as it tried to escape and started to drag it with them. He remembered wondering why the cliché was to tell people _not_ to go toward the light; Dean was headed toward darkness, and the light was with his body, and his brother. Maybe something better was above that, but he never even got a glimpse.

Dean fought the whole way down, clawing against the hellhounds even as their teeth sank into his soul and dragged him further and further down. He couldn’t leave Sammy. Why had he thought it would be easy to leave Sammy? His brother was his responsibility, and he’d left him.

When the descent finally halted, Dean felt himself thrown forcibly against a rack, his injuries flaring painfully. Somehow he was in a body that must still be his, and he could see light reflected from him. No, not reflected. He had to be the source of the light, because no other source was anywhere near him.

He could see the faces of the hellhounds, and if he’d thought they were terrifying on the mortal plane, then they were infinitely worse here; they were the size of horses, their thick bodies made of nothing but solid muscle, their teeth long and sharp and bared and sparkling in the white-blue light, each with several pairs of red eyes that watched him as the hounds circled his rack, their ears flattened back threateningly.

Dean had enough time for his wounds to finally mend themselves before a demon appeared before him. The demon was so thin as to be skeletal, with horns curling from a nearly-featureless skull. Dean felt a rush of cold through his chest.

The demon bent over to study Dean with white eyes at reflected the light with an eerie muted glow.

“Dean Winchester,” the demon said, its mouth not moving in the slightest. The voice didn’t seem to come from anywhere, and it rattled Dean’s bones. The hellhounds melted into the shadows around them. “Perhaps you will achieve what your father could not.”

“Probably not,” Dean said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. His old bravado was nowhere to be found. “If you ask him at least.”

The demon chuckled, and the sound reverberated around the room. It turned toward a table off to the side and ran a hand over the weapons there. “My name is Alastair,” it said, almost conversationally. “We will be seeing a lot of each other.”

“If you’re going for a pickup line, try something less disturbing,” Dean said.

Alastair turned his dead gaze back to Dean. “I will see you tonight,” it said, raising one hand. Dean expected a punch, but the thing only snapped its fingers, and suddenly Dean wasn’t in a solitary room anymore.

Frankly solitude was preferable. Stretching to his left and right, Dean could see racks like his going on as far as he could see. On each was a person, their souls glowing around their bodies – some so white as to be almost blue, others turning grey at the edges, and still others that were more darkness than light. Facing each person was a demon, each different, each deadly. There were claws and teeth and horns and spikes and Dean couldn’t comprehend what they looked like.

The screams were the worst, and it took Dean a moment to realize that one had torn itself out of his own throat. He hadn’t seen the demon approach him, hadn’t even felt the blow at first, but now he would feel something wickedly sharp embedded in his body.

By the end of the day, Dean was spent. His body didn’t feel like it was his anymore. He was broken, and he was bloody, and he was numb. He had tried to fight his bonds, and he could feel the exhaustion in his bones when the demon finally left him alone.

When his wounds started to repair themselves, Dean found himself in his little room again. Alastair was waiting for him, his blank eyes considering.

“I can make the pain go away,” the demon said. “I can make it go away forever.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Dean said, his voice hoarse. He felt his lip curl into a sneer.

“You can get down off that rack,” Alastair continued, as if Dean hadn’t spoken, “and all you need to do is take over for one of my demons.”

“Never,” Dean spat.

Alastair was quiet a moment. He stepped over to Dean, leaning close so he could better inspect Dean’s features. Dean turned his face away, but kept his eyes trained on Alastair’s face.

“Very well,” Alastair said, drawing back. He snapped his fingers, and pain ripped through Dean as he found himself back in the line of racks.

For thirty years this went on. Dean wasn’t sure when he stopped fighting the restraints. He wasn’t sure when the light that reflected in Alastair’s eyes started to dim. But one day, something in him snapped, and he couldn’t take it anymore. And he was scared, and every part of him was in pain, when he was finally allowed off the rack.

They remained in the private room at first. Dean tried not to pay attention to what his first victim looked like. But of course he did. He noticed that the person was young, and scared, and they screamed and cried, and the sound made bile rise in Dean’s throat.

Alastair trained him himself. Dean could feel the demon’s presence, so close to him in that room, directing his moves, until Dean could inflict new pains on new souls every day.

Eventually Dean joined the main room, and the demons in the line flinched away from the light he still produced. But the fresh souls on the racks were brighter, and eventually Dean found that the demons didn’t pay him any attention.

After eight years manning the racks, there was commotion. It came from above, and below, and all around. There was too much light, and it hurt Dean’s eyes. He snarled at it, but before the light could fully reach him, he was back in his private room. He roared in frustration, pacing the walls. He had buried his fear long ago, but now it bubbled up in the uncertainty. He forced it back down, throwing one of the whips from the table across the room. He could almost hear Alastair over his shoulder, but when he turned there was no one there.

A hole opened up in the wall, and a ball of light shot into the room before the wall closed itself again.

Dean leapt out of the way, and had to squint against the harsh light, like so many souls but infinitely brighter. It burned him to look at.

“Dean Winchester,” the thing said. It had a voice not entirely unlike Alastair’s; still deep and bone rattling, but comforting in a way that Alastair’s definitely wasn’t.

“At your service,” Dean growled. He jumped at the light, seeming to catch it off guard. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but he collided with something solid, something hot. He felt the thing grab at him, and he turned and shoved it backwards with all the strength he could muster.

Whether it was strength or beginner’s luck, Dean didn’t know. He didn’t care either, because he had this _thing_ on his rack, where he could get a better look at it.

Its shape shifted constantly, an ever-moving matrix of light that Dean couldn’t focus on. The thing had at least three heads, when Dean could focus on any, and an excessive amount of eyes, when Dean could focus on them. There were wings that unfolded themselves and flapped against the restraints. Dean could hear the chains whining.

“Not today,” Dean said. He reached behind him blindly and grabbed an instrument without thinking, swinging as hard as he could and relishing the feeling of impact. “Why are you here?” he demanded.

“To save you,” the thing said.

Dean growled and swung again, and the light recoiled. A dark satisfaction wound its way through Dean’s chest. “Who are you?”

“My name is Castiel,” the thing said.

“Fancy name,” Dean said, swinging again. He didn’t make as much headway that time, and grabbed a new instrument.

“We are here to save you,” the thing, Castiel, said again. It sounded angry.

“Don’t need saving,” Dean said. He got right in the thing’s space and slashed across its front.

The chains whined again as Castiel strained against them. “This is not your destiny, Dean Winchester.”

Dean barked a laugh and swung again. There was a commotion outside, and the room shook. Shouting came from beyond the walls, and Dean could hear the shrieks of the damned and what sounded like the snarling of hellhounds. He paused for just a moment to listen, and in the next moment found himself in a bone crushing grip.

He writhed against the thing holding him, but it just held tighter, its right arm curled around Dean’s chest, the hand gripping Dean’s shoulder. Dean struggled under the grip, but felt himself being lifted higher. There were other shouts, and the voices rumbled though Dean’s body.

Castiel broke through the ceiling of the room, and there was chaos. Dean felt a scorching heat against his back from Castiel’s body as the thing fought off demons and hellhounds, sometimes with a blade and sometimes just using its wings as shields, and he felt Castiel’s hand searing his shoulder. He tried to fight out of the grip, but with nothing to get leverage on, Dean couldn’t free himself.

As they rose higher, the voices became nothing more than high-pitched screeches.

And then Dean felt oddly heavy. He felt claustrophobic, though there was nothing but darkness around him. He didn’t hurt. He felt solid in a way he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. He found a lighter in his pocket, and all around him he saw wooden walls. The word _casket_ bounced around in his head.

It was slow going to dig himself out, and the sun was too bright. It reminded him of something, but he couldn’t place what. All he remembered was the torturing, and a bright light at the end. He couldn’t remember what the light was.

When he was finally on two feet again, he started walking. There was a little gas station, and as he approached he thought it looked abandoned, which was odd. He didn’t bother to question it, instead going straight to the water.

He found a newspaper and the first thing he noticed was the date. _September 18, 2008_.

*~*~*~*~*

2009

It had been a couple weeks since Zachariah had zapped him to the future, and Dean still wasn’t sure what to make of it. He wasn’t even keeping track of dates. All he knew was that he and Sam were back on the road, and Cas was off doing…whatever the hell it was Cas did. Dean hadn’t seen Cas since Cas had pulled him away from Zachariah in time for Zachariah to not kill him.

Dean was lying in bed one morning, having woken up from whatever nightmare of hell. He could hear the water running in the bathroom, and relished the time he had to get a hold of himself before Sam finished his shower.

He let himself remember his dream for all of five seconds before he forced it to the back of his mind. His hands were balled into fists at his sides as he stared at the ceiling, not trusting the darkness behind his lids. The noise from the shower helped him ignore the screaming in his head.

By the time Sam reemerged from the bathroom, Dean had managed to force hell away from his train of thought, at least for the moment.

“Are you feeling okay?” Sam asked, rubbing his towel over his hair so it couldn’t dampen the collar of his t-shirt any further.

“Peachy,” Dean said dryly. He forced himself into a sitting position.

Sam didn’t look like he bought it, but he let it drop for the time being. “Happy birthday,” he said instead.

“What?” Dean asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. “It’s September.”

“I know,” Sam said, letting his towel drape around his shoulders. “September 18th. You said that’s when you crawled out of your grave, right?”

“Yeah…?” Dean said. He preferred not to think about it too much.

“Happy birthday,” Sam said with a shrug. “You’re ‘reborn,’ or whatever shit.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said. “Don’t go getting sappy on me.” He pushed himself off the bed and made his way to the bathroom.

He remembered bits and pieces of when Cas raised him from hell, but he preferred not to. He remembered what he did to the souls in hell, but to an extent he could rationalize that. They were bad people. They had sold their souls and had known where they were going. He hated himself for doing it, but at least he hadn’t done anything unexpected, right?

But Cas? He’d been there to help. And Dean had thrown it back in his face in the worst way. But Cas stuck around. Dean hadn’t ever brought it up (he hoped Cas thought he had forgotten), and Cas hadn’t either, so Dean was prepared to let it drop.

*~*~*~*~*

2010

Dean was trying to live a normal life, he really was. He thought he’d started to adjust alright so far. He’d been with Lisa and Ben for a few months, and he’d gotten a job, started paying honest rent for the first time in his life.

He didn’t tell anyone else what had happened or what had brought him to Lisa’s. He caught wind of rumors that said he’d been in Afghanistan, and he didn’t care enough to correct anyone. But Lisa knew, at least part of it. She’d been freaked out when Dean had told her, and he couldn’t blame her for that. He’d thought she’d kick him out and tell him never to come back, but she hadn’t. She wanted to help. She came up with an explanation that was enough to keep Ben satisfied without freaking him out.

Dean wasn’t normal, not by a long shot, but he thought he was coping. He missed Sammy, tried to ignore the fact that his little brother was trapped in hell with two pissed off archangels. Lisa told him he shouldn’t blame himself, but he couldn’t help it. He should have found another way. He should have been able to protect his brother.

That had been May. It was September now, and the leaves were starting to change colors. Dean started adjusting his schedule in his head so he would have time to rake the yard. He didn’t allow himself to think of how normal a thought that was. He forced himself not to think of the monsters that might start coming out in earnest in the fall, with the longer nights and cooler weather.

Lisa threw the morning paper on the kitchen table one day while Dean sipped his coffee and nibbled at his pancakes. Dean glanced over at it, intending to see when the headline was and go about his business, and his gaze caught on the date.

He hated this day. He’d been dreading it. Last year it had brought back memories, and this year was no different. He’d managed to ignore the date for the last week, but it caught in his attention and couldn’t go away.

He wished, not for the first time, that he could forget the day Cas had saved him. Remembering that day always lead to remembering the other days, and Dean’s jaw tightened when the image of his first victim flashed across his mind. He hadn’t deserved to be saved, he knew that. Sure, he’d stopped the apocalypse, but he still wasn’t sure that made up for all he’d done to the poor souls in hell.

“You okay?” Lisa asked.

Dean startled, meeting Lisa’s gaze with wide eyes. He shook himself. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied. He knew she could tell he was lying, but he was grateful that she didn’t press for information.

Lisa tried to make conversation over breakfast, but Dean’s heart wasn’t in it. He wanted Cas there. He wasn’t even sure why anymore, but at the very least he wanted someone there he could actually vent to. Cas knew everything that had happened. Cas would tell him he had deserved to be freed from hell, and dammit, even if Dean knew he wouldn’t believe it, it would be really nice to have someone there who sincerely meant it, despite everything that had happened.

*~*~*~*~*

2011

Dean had tried to prepare this year, he really had. He didn’t think about hell so much when he was awake anymore. He’d actually gotten pretty good at ignoring it in his waking hours (he had more important things to worry about). When he was asleep – that was a different story.

But now Cas was gone, probably for good. Cas had already died on him twice, but he’d kept coming back. He was a constant, along with Sam. Dean had known he could count on them to be there. Thankfully Sam was still alive and kicking, and for now he had a handle on how to control his Lucifer hallucinations.

Sam cracked the same birthday joke as he had two years before. Dean managed to laugh this time, even though it stung.

Dean didn’t know how he was supposed to react. The angel who had saved him was dead – and three years ago he wouldn’t have thought that was even possible. Hell, just a few months ago, with Cas all juiced up on soul power, he wouldn’t have thought it was possible.

Dean wanted Cas back, even though he refrained from saying so when Sam asked him, “What do you want for your birthday this year?” Somehow he didn’t think he’d be able to play it off as so much of a joke. Instead he said they should take a day off from hunting and go for a drink and some celebration.

He was grateful when Sam didn’t mention that Dean spent the whole night drinking alone.

*~*~*~*~*

2012

Purgatory might be hell, but at least it wasn’t _hell_. Dean was killing monsters, same as always. And now he had Benny, and the company was a nice change of pace, even if the company wouldn’t stop asking why the hell they were still wandering around looking for some _one_ instead of some _thing_.

“How are you still sure your angel friend is even still alive?” Benny asked, not for the first time.

“Until I see a body, he’s alive,” Dean said. He could practically hear Benny roll his eyes, but he didn’t care.

They continued their wandering until they finally found Cas, and despite himself, Dean couldn’t keep the relief off his face. He insisted Cas come with them. He promised to get everyone out. He didn’t know if he could actually follow through with that, but he did know that he’d die trying if he couldn’t.

One night, not long after they’d found him, Cas asked to speak with Dean in private. Benny gave them a weird look, but wandered a little ways into the woods, saying he’d be back in a little bit with more firewood.

“You should leave me here,” Cas said without preamble.

“What?” Dean demanded. “No. Not gonna happen.”

“Dean–”

“Cas, you’re leaving with us. End of story.”

Cas shook his head. “We don’t even know if the portal will work for an angel.”

Dean waved the argument away. “We’ll get you out Cas.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Cas asked, “Why are you so determined to save me?”

Dean managed to stop himself before he said something he might regret. There were several reasons he wanted to save Cas, but he had to make a good argument too, or Cas would never go for it. “Why were you so determined to save _me_?” he countered.

Cas almost laughed. “I had orders,” he said. “And you didn’t deserve hell.”

“You don’t deserve purgatory,” Dean said.

“The things I’ve done… They’re horrible Dean,” Cas said, a haunted look on his face.

“And I’ve never done anything horrible?” Dean asked. He held up a hand before Cas could protest. “Look, Cas, we’ve all done some pretty bad things. But you didn’t let me rot in hell, and I’m sure as hell not gonna leave you to rot here.”

They stared at each other for some time before Cas finally looked away, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

“You saved me four years ago,” Dean said. He noticed the small smile on Cas’ face, even if Cas hadn’t meant for him to see it. “You know, give or take. I don’t exactly have a calendar out here.”

“If my calculations are correct, it’s been just over four years,” Cas said.

“Close enough,” Dean said. “I guess I should thank you for that.”

Cas shook his head again. He looked like there was something else he wanted to say, but he held his tongue.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said. He reached out to touch the angel beside him, and was rewarded with a small smile.

“You should get some sleep,” Cas said.

Dean knew he was right, but he didn’t want to risk Cas running off before Benny got back. “Only if you stay here,” he said.

“I will,” Cas promised.

Dean eyed Cas suspiciously, but he crossed to a nearby tree and sank down to the base of the trunk and leaned against it. Then he held an arm out to Cas. “Come here,” he said.

A puzzled look crossed Cas’ face. “I don’t need–”

“Cas,” Dean interrupted. “Please.”

Cas sighed and crossed to where Dean was, sinking to the ground beside him. Dean leaned against Cas and scooted closer. Cas wrapped his arms around Dean almost automatically, without a second thought.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Dean said as he closed his eyes. “You have to stay with me.”

“Of course.”

*~*~*~*~*

2013

It’s been five years since Cas raised Dean from hell, and Dean was really getting tired of all the bullshit that was going on. At least for the first two anniversaries, Cas was still an angel. Then he was dead (or not, Dean’s still not sure when exactly Cas was brought back). Then they were in purgatory. Now Cas wasn’t an angel. Sam and Dean had found him only a day or so after the fall, but Gadreel had given Dean a choice between saving Sam and keeping Cas around. And honestly, as long as Cas was safe, Dean needed to make sure Sam was totally healed before he let Gadreel leave.

So Cas was working at a gas station. Dean hated himself for sending Cas away, but he made sure to stop by and check on him every time he happened past the town where Cas was living. Even if he happened to have to take a several-hour detour to get there. Sam never mentioned it. Gadreel hung around.

Dean was half tempted to call Cas and wish him a happy anniversary, but he wasn’t sure what kind of reaction that kind of humor would get him. He didn’t deserve to make those kinds of jokes with Cas.

Maybe he’d call just to make sure Cas was okay. Or maybe he’d just leave it. Cas would call if something was wrong, wouldn’t he? There was no need to call if nothing was wrong.

Did Cas even remember why September 18th was important? That was a stupid question. Of course he remembered. They’d talked about it the year before, and purgatory was hard to forget.

Sam didn’t make a joke about it being his birthday. Maybe he’d forgotten. Dean found he wished Sam would crack the joke. It would give some kind of normalcy to what was going on.

*~*~*~*~*

2014

If he had known the Mark of Cain was going to be such a pain in the ass, Dean would have told Cain to go fuck himself and avoided the whole mess.

Thankfully the Mark didn’t act up around Jody and Donna; Dean didn’t want to have to explain that situation any more than was totally necessary.

He still regretted the whole demon business. He’d managed in hell without totally becoming a demon (though he wasn’t about to go claiming that it was because of his own willpower), but _Metatron_ was able to turn him around.

Dean hoped he was making it up to Sam, but he had a feeling he wasn’t. Last he’d known Cas was off with Hannah doing some angel business or other.

It was odd, to see the date on a newspaper in Hibbing and only think that he _wanted_ to see Cas. The memories of Cas dragging him out of hell were still there, and he’d accepted that the nightmares would probably never go away, but all he wanted was to be close to Cas. He remembered when he and Benny had found Cas in purgatory, and how Dean had fallen asleep against Cas. That was all he wanted.

Dean shook his head to clear it and refocused on the case, the Mark forgotten for now.

*~*~*~*~*

2015

To wake up to Cas being in the bunker on the anniversary of the date he’d pulled Dean out of hell was surreal to say the least. They weren’t presently out on a case. Hell, they were going stir crazy.

But they were safe. And Cas was home, even if he didn’t leave his room so much.

Just for the hell of it, Dean made breakfast. Sam made a snide remark, but Dean ignored it, in too good a mood to really care about his brother’s jabs.

“What’s the occasion?” Sam asked when they sat down at the table.

Dean shrugged noncommittally.

Sam raised a brow at him, but said nothing. He pulled his phone out to do the preliminary search for anything out of the ordinary and paused after a moment, glancing back up at his brother. “Is it your birthday?” he asked.

Dean actually laughed. “Does it still count after all the Mark-induced-demon bullshit?” he asked. “Or do I need another new second birthday?”

Sam considered that for a moment. “I have no idea,” he finally said.

“Then yes, it’s my birthday,” Dean said, stuffing half a waffle in his mouth. “And so is the anniversary of my not being a demon anymore.”

“What about the day you were actually born?” Sam asked, an amused look on his face.

“That one too,” Dean said, around another mouthful of his breakfast. “And I expect a big celebration on each of those days from now on.”

“Sure, keep dreaming,” Sam said, going back to his news search.

Dean made a face at him. “Then you can at least be the one who goes on the supply run today.”

“Fine,” Sam agreed. “I’ll go after breakfast. And I’ll bring you your birthday pie.”

“Awesome,” Dean said with a grin.

Sam left as soon as he finished his breakfast, and Dean piled a plate with waffles and syrup for Cas. He grabbed a cup of coffee while he was at it, and placed it on a tray with the waffles and syrup before he headed down to Cas’ room.

Cas answered almost immediately after Dean knocked on the door, a confused look on his face.

“Brought you breakfast,” Dean said cheerily, holding up the tray.

Cas’ confused frown only deepened. “I don’t need to eat,” he said.

Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s the thought that counts,” he said. “I’ll eat it if you won’t.”

Cas’ confusion melted into a small smile. He stepped aside. “You can bring it in if you want,” he said.

Dean perked up and stepped inside, taking a seat at the desk lined up on one wall.

“Why did you bring me breakfast?” Cas asked, taking a seat on the bed, facing Dean.

Dean shrugged. “My way of saying ‘happy anniversary,’ I guess,” he said, giving Cas a lopsided grin as he cut into his second breakfast.

It took Cas half a second to figure out what anniversary that might be, and when he did, his smile grew, just slightly. “Happy anniversary, then,” Cas said.

“You know this is the first time we’ve been in the same place on September 18th. Since you dropped me in a box in the ground anyway,” Dean said. A thoughtful look crossed his face. “You couldn’t have put me back topside?”

Cas shrugged. “I had already carried you from the depths of hell,” he said simply. “Besides, it was easier for the garrison to get away unnoticed if you weren’t ‘topside.’ We didn’t have vessels then, and if you had seen us, we’d have had to bring you back again.”

Dean considered that as he stuffed his face. “Thanks then,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” Cas said, an amused smile on his face.

Dean thought some more, his mind going back to the day he crawled out of the ground. “So you put my body back together, but you couldn’t get rid of the handprint?”

“I apologize for that,” Cas said. “But it was significantly worse than just a handprint when I put your soul back.”

Dean shuddered to think of what he might have looked like.

“And grace burns differently,” Cas said. “I tried to fix it.”

“It’s fine,” Dean said. He picked up on something in Cas’ voice, like he was talking about something more significant than leaving a handprint on Dean’s shoulder. “It was just a handprint. No big deal.”

Cas nodded, looking down again, his jaw tight.

Dean didn’t like the sudden tension in the room. “Do you remember going to get me?” he asked, trying to move on to something else.

“Of course,” Cas said. “I couldn’t forget it.”

“What was it like?”

Cas sighed and looked back up at Dean. “It was dark,” he said. “All down the line of racks was light, and just opposite them was darkness.” Cas got a faraway look on his face. “When we finally got to that room, there was a clear line. Until we saw you.” He paused for a moment, glancing over at Dean for a split second before looking away again. “Your soul was so bright. We knew you’d broken some time before, but I still could have mistaken you for one of my brothers at first glance.”

A heavy silence passed between them, and Dean shifted uncomfortably, what was left of his breakfast sitting forgotten on the desk. “You’re kidding, right?” Dean asked.

Cas shook his head. “You’re the Righteous Man,” he said. He couldn’t quite meet Dean’s eye. “Your soul overpowered the others in the room. It was like a beacon.” He paused again, seemed to gather himself together. When he finally looked Dean in the eye, he had a determined look on his face. “I knew _I_ had to be the one who pulled you out.”

“Why you?” Dean asked quietly.

“I couldn’t leave you there,” Cas said. “Even when Alastair put you in that room and the fighting got worse. I had to make sure you were safe.”

Dean flinched at the mention of the room. They’d never spoken about that room before, and Dean had hoped it would stay that way. “I’m sorry. About what I did,” he said, dropping his gaze.

“You weren’t yourself,” Cas said, dismissing Dean’s concern. “We had all been warned going in that you would fight against us.”

Dean shook his head. “I’m sorry. For everything.” He wasn’t sure what he was referring to, but he was sure it had something to do with the Mark, and with Cas going through all he’d gone through.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” Cas said. “For a few days ago.”

“You were under a spell,” Dean said. He managed to drag his face up to Cas’ level. “Don’t apologize for that. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But–”

“Cas, we’ve done some pretty shitty things to each other,” Dean pointed out. “Let’s call it a wash, yeah?”

Cas looked like he wanted to say something else, but he let it drop, at least for now. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Dean said, slapping a hand on the desk. “I don’t know what goes on for a seventh anniversary, but I think a movie marathon sounds a lot better than looking for a case.”

Cas offered him a small smile. “I’d like that.”

*~*~*~*~*

2016

With everyone safe in the bunker again, Dean felt like he could finally breathe. He locked himself in his room with the intention of sleeping for three days, but he couldn’t seem to get his mind to quiet long enough to actually find sleep.

He could have been in his room for twenty minutes or six hours when there was a knock on the door.

Dean groaned. “Come in,” he said, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t Cas holding a cupcake. “Hello Dean,” Cas said, stepping into the room and closing the door with a questioning look.

Dean nodded. “Hey Cas,” he said. “What’s the occasion?”

“It’s been eight years,” Cas said, crossing the room to sit gingerly on the end of Dean’s bed. He offered Dean the cupcake. “Last year you brought me breakfast.”

One side of Dean’s mouth turned up in a tired smile. “Yeah,” he said, shifting so he was actually sitting. He took the pastry and licked some of the icing off. “Thanks,” he said.

They sat in silence while Dean ate, and Dean didn’t seem to be in any hurry for Cas to leave. “Can’t believe we’re both alive eight years later,” Dean said.

“It wasn’t for lack of trying,” Cas said. He smiled when Dean looked up over at him. “I thought you’d killed yourself to get rid of Amara,” he added. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah, me too,” Dean said, offering Cas a smile of his own. He brushed his hands together over his nightstand so he could get the crumbs later, and when he looked back over at Cas, the angel had an odd look on his face. “What?”

“You have a bit of icing,” Cas said, pointing on his own lip where it was. He found he couldn’t force his eyes from Dean’s mouth when Dean licked the icing off.

“Cas?” Dean asked, amused.

Cas looked up with a startled look. He immediately started to draw back. “I’m sorry–”

“Don’t be,” Dean said, grabbing Cas’ arm so he couldn’t go anywhere. He leaned forward ever so slightly. They’d had something for a long time – he knew that. It had been something else entirely once or twice – in purgatory, when Cas was working at that awful gas station – but there had never been any consistency to it. But now it had been eight years since Cas raised him from hell. This seemed as good a time as any.

Cas’ eyes were traveling from Dean’s eyes to his lips and back, trying to get a read on Dean’s body language. His mind only seemed focused on the fact that Dean’s hand was on his arm, and Dean’s face was so much closer to his. “What…”

Dean felt like his heart was going to break his ribs. “Happy anniversary Cas,” Dean said. He tugged on Cas’ sleeve awkwardly and leaned just a little closer.

Cas leaned forward, knocking his forehead against Dean’s, a hundred different emotions chasing each other across his face. “Happy anniversary Dean,” he said.

Dean closed the distance between their lips carefully, not wanting to mess this up. He felt Cas’ hand gently touch the side of his face as their lips moved together, and tension seemed to melt out of his body. He managed to scoot himself closer to Cas without breaking their kiss too much, and he melted against Cas’ side when he felt Cas’ other hand snake around his waist.

They stayed like that, kissing and holding each other, for a long time, until Dean finally pulled back, resting his forehead against Cas’. “I want this,” he said, so softly he almost couldn’t hear himself.

“I do too,” Cas replied, pulling Dean closer to his side.

Dean could have laughed for how simple it sounded. He didn’t. He just let his head drop to Cas’ shoulder, his eyes still shut. “’M tired,” he said.

He could feel Cas’ smile. “Then sleep,” Cas said, his voice rumbling through Dean. “I’ll watch over you.”

Dean did chuckle at that. He climbed around Cas to stretch out on the bed, and held an arm out for Cas. Cas didn’t hesitate to shed his shoes and his coat and lie next to Dean.

“You’re practically naked,” Dean said, going for scandalized but not quite pulling it off. He cuddled up next to Cas and relaxed when he felt an arm around him. He could feel Cas chuckle.

“Goodnight Dean.”

“Goodnight Cas.”

“Happy anniversary.”


End file.
